Eyes
by Kia R.B.R
Summary: We all know that Booth has those puppy-dog brown orbs, and Temperance has those icy, piercing blue eyes. But what do they see when they look at each others eyes? And what will people think when they catch them staring?


In His/Her/Another's Eyes

**Disclaimer: NO!! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME SAY IT!!! NEVER!!!...Ok okay fine. I...I don't own them. There, are you happy?**

**AN: First fic, but by all means please don't be gentle. I'm not going to lie and say constructive criticism is appreciated, but it is accepted and stored in the back of my mind. Sometimes it will rear its head while I'm writing, so you can say it and maybe it'll come in handy. **

**Anyway this is a Booth/Bones fic. There is some case crap that I know you will skip over; that's fine. As long as you soak in the BB lovin and fluff and friendship, I'll be happy. **

**I may write a second chapter telling the same incident from Brennan's POV. So far though, it's Booth's POV. **

**So, sit back, read and enjoy. That sounded a lot like the movies. But I must deter you from eating popcorn while reading this; greasy fingers lead to friggin disgusting keyboards. **

**K I'll shut up already. Just read. **

HIS

I had been listening to this same spiel for what seemed to be three hours, although realistically it's probably only been two minutes. My partner was rattling off every possible scenario for our murder case, and all I wanted was the one that was relevant to our victim.

"Then again, if he was facing this way," she turned so her face was diagonal to mine, giving me a full view of those stunningly gorgeous blue eyes, "we have another twenty-something possibilities"

"Bones, not to rain on your parade," she gives me a confused look. I hold back frustrated words; why can't she just pretend to understand? "Not to make you mad, but I really don't care about them. I just want the ones that most likely happened to our victim."

She shrugs and bites her lip. I can practically hear her mind sifting through each of the scenarios, taking into account the tiniest details, filtering out the ones that don't make sense or are unrealistic. Finally her eyes focus on my face.

"Stuck from behind on the head, falls to the ground and attempts to break fall with arm, thus breaking it. Kicked by murderer on right lower ribs, breaking two of them, and then fatally stabbed though the heart."

I sigh, relieved. "K, now we're getting somewhere. Murder weapon?"

Zach, her intern, comes up the platform steps. " Seventh century sword, silver and iron blade, ten-inch hilt curved on the grip in a semicircle with an orthoclase stone set on the lower portion."

"Are you sure it's orthoclase?" my partner inquires."From it's hard texture I thought it might've been corundum."

"Yes, that's what I originally suspected as well, but Hodgins and I conducted a simple experiment where we determined the Mohs number by the marks on the dents on her skull. We concluded that it's number was 6, which is the number of..."

"...orthoclase. Good job, Zach."

I turned to my partner and, having gotten lost after the first mention of that long O word, announce, "Ok, I need a translation"

"Well apparently the weapon is a sword from the 1600s, and a distinguishing feature is a large, orthoclase stone set in the hilt."

She starts to point at a wound on the skull but stopped short when she realizes that Zach was still standing behind us, peering intently. I follow her gaze and send a death glare at the intern, who, in turn, cowers.

"Zach, is there anything else?" Bones asks impatiently.

"No Dr. Brennan."

Bones doesn't want to seem rude, but I don't mind. I can't stand that kid.

"Then why are you still standing here?" I snap. Bones sends me a "back off, Booth" glare. For someone that doesn't want kids, she sure is annoyingly protective of Zach.

'Well, Angela saw me coming over here to give you a description of the murder weapon, and she told me to "hang back and watch the sparks fly" for her. But so far, my presence has not produced any electrical reactions."

Bones smiles and rolls her eyes. "Never mind Zach, You can go."

He nods and walks off towards Angela's office. We are quiet and hear him call out, "Angela, what exactly was I looking for and what was its relevance?"

"You didn't see the sparks zooming around the room? I can feel them from here."

"That's physically impossible, there aren't any significant electrical charges in the air at this time. And why did I have to watch for them near Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth?"

Bones rolls her eyes again and I stifle a laugh at Zach's obliviousness.

"Angela, give it up!" she yells at her artist friend.

"We're just partners." I add.

"No, I won't and no, you're not," she yells back from her office.

"She's right about the last one," Bones comments as she leans towards the skull, prodding a chip in the surface. My head was next to hers but, when she said that, I drew back in surprise, amazement, and, although I'd never admit it, joy. She notices my not-so-subtle reaction and looks up at me questioningly. I return her look with one of equal confusion.

"I mean," she clarifies, "that we're more than co-workers. We're friends. Right?" She asks this last word so delicately, like she's afraid to hear my answer, as if she fears I will reject her.

"Of course," I confirm hastily, honestly, pleading her with my eyes to believe me. "We're friends, Bones. Best friends."

She smiles softy, and I grin back, causing her smile to grow even larger, with more intensity and warmth. I can feel my heart thudding in my chest when her eyes meet mine. They're so full of trust and...something else. That _something else_ is what makes my breath hitch in my throat and my muscles tense and my heart start beating like I'm running a marathon. It makes my hands go cold and my brain turn to OFF.

What is it? What is this something? Relation? I mean, she and I can sense each other's feelings and moods like a bomb dog can smell explosives. But that's not it. Understanding? Yeah, we have that too. We can communicate effectively, and we can comfort each other. We just get each other. But that's not it either. Compassion? Connection? Almost, it's almost connection.

"Who's winning?" Hodgins' voice sounds from the bottom of the platform stairs. Bones and I both look down at him in confusion.

"The staring contest? Who's winning?" he asks again. It hits me that Bones and I have been gazing at each other's eyes, smiling, for a very long time.

We just blankly gaze at him; Bones is probably coming to the same conclusion.

"Come on, you've been at it for, like, four minutes. Someone has to be taking the lead," he rags on. Bones and I turn our stares to each other in amazement; four minutes?!

What was she thinking while I was busy dissecting every emotion in her irises?

Hodgins, obviously frustrated by our lack of response to his questions, stomps off, calling out "You two are one weird pair of lovebirds," as he goes into Angela's office and shuts then door, probably to...I don't even want to go there.

Bones to examining the victim and I return to watching her, pretending to be helping. Something that Hodgins said makes me think of her fire-ice eyes. _You two are one weird pair of lovebirds. _

Love. That was what was in her eyes. Love...for me?

Or am I trying to convince myself that because it's what I WANT to see reflecting in her eyes?

Maybe I should just leave the analyzing up to Bones.

**Disclaimer: I still don't own them. Actually, I do. But publicity doesn't want anyone to know that a 14 year old is the creative mastermind behind Bones.**

**KIDDING!!! Please don't arrest me. **

**AN: Ok, back by popular demand, (if popular demand means I got at least one review and am bored out of my skull enough to write another chapter) here is Brennan's take on the same incident. Again, please refrain from eating popcorn or any other greasy foods while reading this. I don't want to be the guilty party behind your nasty-sticky keyboards.**

HER

I could hear myself rattling off scenarios, like I had been for the past five minutes, but was really concentrating on watching my partner. His eyes were starting to glaze over, as always. Couldn't the man just pretend to understand? I don't think he realizes that I use him as a sounding board, a brick wall to bounce ideas off of until I find the right one.

I return my attention to the words coming out of my mouth and find myself turning to face him, to demonstrate twenty-something additional possibilities. Our eyes meet, and for the briefest second, I get lost in his melted-chocolate eyes. For a male, he has very nice eyes. Probably a result of his parents having biologically superior dominant and recessive genes that control his eye color and structure.

He breaks my moment of observation and interjects, "Not to rain on your parade, Bones..." and I can feel my forehead crinkle as I hear yet another pop-culture phrase I don't get. I can tell he's holding in his frustration with me as he explains, "Not to make you mad, but I really don't care about them. I just want the ones that most likely happened to our victim."

I shrug like it doesn't surprise me but bite my lip, because I'm glad he said something. Most people are too intimidated by me and my long, descriptive speeches to tell me to just get to the point. I realize he's waiting for my reply and quickly pick out the one that best matches our victim.

"Stuck from behind on the head, falls to the ground and attempts to break fall with arm, thus breaking it. Kicked by murderer on right lower ribs, breaking two of them, and then fatally stabbed though the heart."

He sighs happily, relieved that he finally has the information he needs. "Kay, now we're getting somewhere. Murder weapon?"

My intern, Zach, comes up the platform steps, rattling off the description of the weapon he and Hodgins apparently just identified. " Seventh century sword, silver and iron blade, ten-inch hilt curved on the grip in a semicircle with an orthoclase stone set on the lower portion."

"Are you sure it's orthoclase?" I ask. It really looked like Mohs 9 to me. "From it's hard texture I thought it might've been corundum."

"Yes, that's what I originally suspected as well, but Hodgins and I conducted a simple experiment where we determined the Mohs number by the marks on the dents on her skull. We concluded that it's number was 6, which is the number of..."

"...orthoclase. Good job, Zach." So that's what all the banging sounds coming out of the lab room were.

Booth has apparently gotten lost in all the science terms, so he turns to me. Not that I'd ever tell him this, but he is so...I want to say cute, but that's not a word I use. Endearing, I guess; he's endearing when he doesn't understand something. His incredible large ego isn't as obvious when he's confused or feeling left out of a conversation. "Okay, I need a translation."

"Well apparently the weapon is a sword from the 1600s, and a distinguishing feature is a large, orthoclase stone set in the hilt."

I start to point out a dent in the skull that displays the stone's shape and texture, but then realize that Zach is still hovering behind us, peering at Booth and me like he would a skeleton.

"Zach, is there anything else?" I know Booth hates it when Zach is around. His intellectual capacity and lack of social skills make him Booth's opposite.

"No Dr. Brennan." He responds.

"Then why are you still standing here?" my partner snaps. I send him a warning glare. Annoying or not, Zach is human and part of the team. Not to mention my responsibility. Booth thinks I can't relate and connect with people, but I can. Zach, and Angela, who's my best friend, and her fiancee Hodgins, who also works here, are all examples. Not to mention Booth himself. We're each others friend and protectors and confidants. Sometimes I find myself talking to Booth about things I normally wouldn't even think about to myself. And I know he tells me things he's never even considered telling another person.

Zach stammers, 'Well, Angela saw me coming over here to give you a description of the murder weapon, and she told me to "hang back and watch the sparks fly" for her. But so far, my presence has not produced any electrical reactions."

I roll my eyes and smile. That definitely sounds like Ange. "Never mind, Zach," I tell him, and he leaves. On the way back to the lab room, he knocks on Angela's door and enters her office. "Angela, what exactly was I looking for and what was its relevance?"

"You didn't see the sparks zooming around the room? I can feel them from here."

"That's physically impossible, there aren't any significant electrical charges in the air at this time. And why did I have to watch for them near Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth?"

I roll my eyes again at both my friend and intern. Booth is trying to stifle a laugh and is doing a terrible job. "Angela, give it up!" I call out.

"We're just partners," Booth adds, taking the next words right out of my mouth.

"No I won't, and no, you're not."she yells from her office.

I sigh and lean back in towards the skull. I open my mouth to continue my lecture about the wound from the orthoclase, but out of my mouth, I hear the words "She's right about the last one." What the hell? Where did those words come from? Booth was leaning down next to me, but when he heard that, his head snapped up. I look up at him, and he shoots me a look asking my to clarify.

"I mean," I state, trying to cover my ass, "that we're more than co-workers." Yeah, that probably didn't help. "We're friends, right?" The last word comes out soft and pleading for some reason.

"Of course," he agrees quickly. "We're friends, Bones. Best friends."

I smile at him. No matter how often I hear those words, I don't think they'll lose their effect on me. Just like that damned charm smile that's on his face right now, lighting up his eyes. I can feel my own grin growing wider as I lose myself, once again, in the layers of deep brown. His eyes are so full of faith and...some _thing_ besides that, too. That _thing_ is what makes me think of him, even when I'm in the midst of equally-attractive men. That _thing_ is what I see in my mind before I drift off to sleep, what makes me feel safe and secure when I see him walk though my office door at 7 AM. That _thing_, which I can't find a word to describe. I've tried all sorts of feelings; compassion, understanding, trust, connection, friendship. The last two are close, but they just aren't right.

"Who's winning?" someone asks from below the platform. Our eyes break contact as we look over at Hodgins in question.

"The staring contest. Who's winning?" he asks again. I realize that we have been staring into each others eyes for quite a while, and, judging by Booth's expression, he's come to the same realization.

"Come on, you've been at it for, like, four minutes," Hodgins adds. "Someone has to be taking the lead." Booth's eyes find mine again as we stare at each other in amazement; four minutes!!!

Hodgins, probably deterred by his still-unanswered question, stalks away, calling behind him, "You two are one crazy pair of lovebirds."

I try to push the incident to the back of my head as I return once more to examining the bones. This proves very difficult, as I can feel Booth watching me, and it makes me feel warm and nervous all at once. Something in Hodgins' words makes me think of that _thing_ in Booth's eyes.

Lovebirds...love. That was it, that was the word to describe it. That look in his eyes made me feel love...or was it the look in his eyes was love?

Maybe I should leave the people-reading up to Booth.

Chapter 3

ANOTHER'S

Angela Montenegro was used to dissecting everything Booth and Brennan did to find the hidden meanings behind their actions. Some were easy and practically didn't need any work, like Bren shooting someone to save Booth and vise versa. And when she ran into a slightly-intoxicated Dr. Sweets, Booth and Bren's psychiatrist, he told her about their "coffee relationship" discussion. But what she found interesting was that he added they looked at each other after that out of the corner of their eyes. He couldn't remember what the look was exactly, but he said there was this emotion in it that told him something important. Of course, the seven vodka shots had erased his memory of what the emotion was or what it told him.

But the artist was willing to bet her life that the emotion was sexual tension.

As she strolled the second level of the Jeffersonian, she saw the two people in question on the lower level, examining a victim on the platform. At least, that was what they should have been doing. Instead, they were looking at each other. Intensely.

Angela wished madly for a pair of binoculars as she stopped to observe the moment. Realizing she had her sketch pad in her hands, she grabbed a pencil off the nearby table and began to draw the scene below her. For about three minutes, all was quiet, and Angela was trying to estimate what their eyes were saying based on their other body language when a voice sounded.

"Who's winning?"

That damned Hodgins. As much as she loved her fiancee, he had the worst timing in the world. Angela used the distraction to slip down the stairs and back into her office unnoticed.

A moment later, the bug man came into her office and closed the door behind him.

Angela raised her eyebrows teasingly at him. "What, is it already time for another make-out session?"

He grinned. "As much as I would love it to be, no. I have some bugs I gotta label and figure out their primary habitat. But did you see Booth and Dr. Brennan back on the platform like three seconds ago?"

"Yeah I did. What were they doing?"

"I don't know. I thought it was a staring contest, but now that I think about it, that was a pretty stupid guess."

Angela gave him a "you think?" look. "Well I saw them and got a quick sketch down before you interrupted. I just couldn't see their eyes enough..."

She brandished her paper at him. He looked at it appreciatively and looked closely at the two figure's eyes.

"Almost got it, but not quite. Her eyes were a little softer on the edges, and his smile was showing in his."

She grabbed the paper and fixed the details. He came around her desk and leaned over her shoulder to watch the sketch transform, whispering alterations as she worked.

"And her smile was...warmer. Like they were sharing a secret. His pupils were larger, and he was squinting a little more."

Finally, Angela brushed the eraser remnants away and adjusted her desk light so it illuminated the paper.

"Wow Ange, that's perfect," Hodgins commented as he kissed her temple. She smiled but was staring intently at her drawing.

"What is it, Hodgy? What is that feeling in their eyes?"

He gave one last look at the sketch. "It reminds me of how I look at you sometimes."

Angela grinned softly. "Of course. How could I not see it. It's not sexual tension."

She looked up at her boyfriend.

"It's love."

As soon as Booth had left and Bren was back in her office, Angela grabbed her latest creation and barged into the anthropologist's room. She strode over to her best friend and held the drawing out in front of her.

"You, Temperance Brennan, have a lot to explain."

**AN: So what now? Should I leave the end of this fic up to your nasty little imaginations, or ruin it all (but keep you quasi-entertained while you are supposed to be writing an essay) by finishing it up in some way/shape/form? Your votes will determine America's next... BB Fanfic! **

**That and the factor of whether or not I get reviews. If you are too lazy to review, I accept chocolate, Starbucks and Jamba Juice. My address is 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Washington DC. **

Chapter 4

**NOT MINE!!!!! I DO NOT OWN THEM!!!!!!**

**I don't know how to put it more directly, so if you don't get it, do the world a favor and glue some duct tape over your mouth. **

**AN: Okay so I let this fic sit by itself, all lonely in my hard drive, for a few weeks. Then I thought to myself, during one of my long walks from the bus stop, how would I finish it if I had to? **

**I don't have an answer, so here I am, sitting at my computer, just letting the words and idea pour outta me, just to see how I would finish it if I wanted to. **

**That and the fact that I'm trying to waste time till the new epi premieres, which is in 3 hours 43 minutes. I figured I can take a shower for the last hour and a half, so I've got (wait, let me get my calculator out) 2 hours, 13 minutes to burn. **

**Now down to 2 hours, 11 minutes. Yay!!!! It's working. **

**Hola baby to seeleybishot, by the way. Thanks for letting me squeal about Bones to you. If my math is right, which it hardly ever is, you are watching a new epi as I'm typing this. **

**Oh, and you are now allowed to eat popcorn while reading this, since I'm scarfing down a bag of microwave-able as we speak..er...read. Whatever. **

**Alright, let's see where this goes. If anywhere.**

"Ange, I don't really have time for this..." Temperance protested as her best friend dragged her into her office.

"Well you had plenty of time to stare at Booth, so I think you can spare 30 seconds for your best girl, huh?" Angela teased. Brennan blushed and cursed under her breath. Had the whole damned lab witnessed that? It was just her luck...as if Ange wasn't obsessed with getting her and Booth together enough as it was.

"Just look at this, NO YELLING OR HITTING, and tell me what you see."

She brandished the sketch at the anthropologist, but kept her hands over everything but the eyes.

Temperance rolled her eyes. "I'd love to see your drawing, but I can only see whoever-they-are's eyes."

"That's the point. What do their eyes tell you?"

"There are two people looking at each other."

Angela glared at her and waved her hand impatiently, signaling for her to keep going and stop being so shallow.

Temperance sighed. "The figure on the left's eyes are a lighter shade then the one on the right."

"Okay, enough with the physical features. What emotions are in their eyes?" Angela was getting frustrated.

"Ange, I am incapable of reading people's emotions. Booth is much better at it than I."

"Well then, consider this a test. I know you've asked Sweets to coach you in reading body language."

Brennan peered closely. "They're trying to tell each other something, but subtly. It looks like their both trying to say the same thing. And they're..." she trailed off, coming to a conclusion that she refused to voice.

Angela, however, put her thoughts into words. "They're being careful, but also reckless. They're risking something important to them, in the hopes of gaining something more that they both want. They're hoping that the other person feels the same way, because it means the world to them. They're afraid to voice their feelings because, if they're wrong about the other person's emotions, or if things don't work out, then everything is lost. And they've both lost so much in life, and the other person is so important to them, that they're scared to risk it all. But they know it, Bren. They _know _that they need each other and they want each other; that without each other they would be nothing, they'd be lost. That the other person is the reason they wake up in the morning and what they think about when they go to sleep. He is the reason she is more sensitive, and happy, and open. She is the reason he is protective, and forgives himself, and happy.

"Do you see it, sweetie?"

And Temperance didn't even have to squint or analyze or probe to see it. Because she saw it frequently enough in Booth's eyes, and she felt it when he was around, even if he wasn't in her direct line of vision.

"Yes, I do. So what you're telling me is that these eyes...are in love?"

Angela let a smile creep onto her face. "No, hon. The eyes are not in love." She lifted her hands away from the rest of the sketch and set it in her friend's hands. Brennan's breath got caught in her throat as she saw her and her partner appear on the paper, with those eyes on their faces and smiles adding to the look.

"The people are." Angela concluded, and walked off.

Bren remained in the office, gazing at the sketch in her hands. Slowly, gently, her mouth turned up into a soft, comprehending smile.

"Yes, they are," she finally admitted to herself.

**AN: And....TIME! We are now down to 3 hours, 8 minutes till the premiere, minus the hour and half that I'll spend in the shower...so we have and hour 38 minutes for me to waste, which means I've spent about 32 minutes writing the last couple hundred words. **

**So so so...whatta ya think? **

**Oh, and I want to say hello to Jen, who is probably marking this thing up with annotations and stuff. Sorry I know your kinda anti-emotional fluff...but I'm procrastinating writing that English essay that's due tomorrow. **


End file.
